A Freckled Hand
by Alice42D
Summary: When one of England's spells go wrong, parralel nations invade from another dimension. America is chased, and Britain seems to be tied up a little at the moment... Many minor pairings, violence.


**Privet! Nice to meet you all!**

**A few warnings: **

**1) This is my first fan fiction to get published online**

**2)This will get very violent, very quickly**

**3) It has TONS of different ships, often with the same people.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything**

Alfred F jones, the personification of the United States of America, slammed the thick steel door behind him

He took a quick glance around the bare, dark room. No windows, one door, no decoration of any sort. Merely four walls and a floor, all out of concrete.

America heard muffled footsteps stop outside the door, and knew he did not have long.

He took out the latest iphone from his pocket, and typed in his password, Hamburger.

He tapped the phone icon and pressed the 3.

Arthur, England, felt the phone vibrate then scream out the first notes of "American idiot"

The old flip phone was in a pocket above his second favorite green sweatervest.

A freckled hand pulled out his phone and accepted the call, putting the phone on speaker.

"Iggy, Did one of your spells go wrong again? I've some wacked out copy of me running around, screaming about the lack of veggie burgers."

The freckled hand brought the phone to England's ear.

"Yeah, sorry Alfred, chap, all my fault. Don't try to come to my place, I've got one of-"

The phone snapped shut.

America stared at the now silent phone._Don't come after me? One of what, exactly?_

A large dent and a crack appeared with a thud in the door. Alfred ran to the center of the room and turned to the door. He tugged a M1911 pistol from his wwII jacket and aimed it head level at the dented door. The door flew open and Alfred's double swaggered in.

On flyaway reddish hair, slim, dark sunglasses rested. The red eyes glinted violently in a tanned face, and blood stained jeans were topped by a similar t-shirt. All was covered by a leather jacket that was decorated with a red had a spike studded bat over his shoulder.

The other America brought down the bat, and showed Alfred four fingers.

"I'll give you four seconds" He said with a New York drawl.

"To what," sneered Alfred, "surrender? Never"

A soft voice next to Alfred's laughed "Looks like you were right after all, Allen"

Alfred's gun clattered to the ground in sheer surprise.

"Kiku?!"

He startled as a knife appeared beside his throat ."I am NOT him." snarled the voice

"And not only his double" whispered a voice with an Italian accent, "but Feliciano's as well"

"Iggy, what have you done?" wondered Alfred as he felt the cold barrel of a gun against his head.

"Can I shoot him?" murmured a voice with a German accent.

North Italy's double laughed. "No not there, it'd be over too quick"

Germany lowered the gun and shot America's foot.

Alfred yelped in pain, but stood his ground.

Allen raised an made a gesture to Americas left, as he swung his bat toward Alfred's stomach. Alfred keeled over, The other Japan's knife slicing into his neck.

A strong kick sent the superpower to the ground, and a steel blade through his stomach pinned him to the floor.

"Not so high and mighty now, are you?" purred Allen.

America heard the sound of air before he felt a metal-tipped boot smash into his face, making his glasses shatter

"Cowards," he coughed.

"No," laughed Feliciano "Just a whole lot smarter than you are"

England glared at his captor, the man who introduced him self as Oliver Kirkland, from the simple wooden chair he was tied hand, body and foot to.

Oliver wore a dirty pink sweater vest over a neon pink dress shirt. His beige pants went suprisingly well with his brown leather shoes and bright blue bowtie. A wide grin was plastered on his freckled face, as he tossed Arthur's phone into the air and caught it, over and over.

"Some friends you got there, poppet" crooned Oliver, "That blame you for such things"

England snorted as he took another glance at his ransacked basement.

Covers were thrown off paintings, chairs, and bookshelves full of spell books.

The lights were turned on, illuminating the dank, dusty room. The walls and ceiling were painted black, which reflected the green-vested brit's mood.

The oaken door was kicked open and four men stepped seemed to brighten up even more.

"Luciano, Lutz, Allen, and Kuro as well! What do you have over you shoulder Lutz?"

The other Germany tossed a chained and gagged figure on the floor.

"America"


End file.
